Baggage
by gingerale22
Summary: Harry, Draco, an odd friendship, and a conversation while packing a suitcase


A/N: Written for the lovely oldenuf2nob, in the occasion of The Quidditch Pitch's 2007 Yule Challenge.

Harry Potter could see him where he stood, all pale and lean and _new_, totally incongruous in the only grubby flat an Auror-trainee could afford. It was obvious that Draco Malfoy, guest in Harry Potter's one-room apartment, was trying really hard not to turn his nose up at the mess surrounding him.

Harry knew it was a scary thing, what he was getting into. He knew there couldn't be any sort of halfway between the two of them, only scorn or _love_, but either with burning passion. That's why to Harry, this quiet truce, this friendship, felt a little alien.

They found each other after the war. Weeks after the final battle, the Savior of the Wizarding World felt an unexplainable need to personally return the disgraced Malfoy scion's wand with a humble word of gratitude. Malfoy, tired and humbled himself, only needed to whisper _thanks but I don't need your pity _before Potter gripped his unmarked forearm and asked him out to a pint at the Hog's Head.

Why Malfoy had gone with him, Harry never understood. But that afternoon was all about silence and second chances and starting over. Only a handful of words were exchanged, which hardly mattered, as all the sighs and sidelong glances over pints of ale said everything that needed to be said.

Six months after, and there was this.

Draco, in Potter's flat for the first time, having volunteered, no, manipulated, himself into the honor of packing Potter's suitcase for him. Potter was being sent into some training mission to the Far East, which meant they would be apart on their first Christmas as "friends." Draco felt himself die a little at that stupid, sentimental thought.

"You really don't need to do this for me," Potter said.

Draco had anticipated that. "But have you ever been to Southeast Asia at this time of the year, Potter?" he asked in a slightly condescending tone, as he proceeded to direct trousers, thin shirts and light jackets into Potter's suitcase with his wand.

"I've never really been outside Britain."

"Then shut up and let me pack for you! You wouldn't know the kinds of clothes needed for their kind of weather. Merlin knows what wool atrocity you'd wear in their heat. Where are your pants?"

Potter chuckled. "They're hanging at the back of the fridge."

That threw Draco off. "And what in Merlin's blazes are they doing there?"

"That's the best place to dry clothes if you're in a hurry. The radiator gives off an even heat that doesn't wrinkle shirts and pants," Potter said matter-of-factly.

Draco put on his disgusted face. "That's utterly revolting, even for you, Potter! You could have used a drying charm!"

Potter just smiled and shrugged, typical of the Gryffindor to dismiss his protestations just like that. But then Potter was sitting down on his bed, beside Draco, and Draco felt he couldn't really breathe. It was always like this when Potter was within touching range.

"So, Malfoy, care to explain why you're packing Christmas socks for me when I'm spending the holidays in Asia?" Potter whispered after peering into the half-full suitcase. Draco could've sworn that Potter was leaning in as he said that.

"Because you'll need your favorite socks to have a proper Christmas?" Draco wasn't convinced of what he just said.

"Try again. I know those socks aren't mine."

"Fine!" Draco cried out in mock exasperation, "I knit those for you, as a present, to remind you of Christmas though you'll be spending it in a place which doesn't have snow and doesn't even get properly chilly."

"You knit? You knit! Good Lord, Malfoy! I thought you couldn't be more of a ponce!"

That comment may have hurt, but Draco wasn't telling. "I'll have you know that knitting is a proper pastime for a Pureblood," he gritted out.

Harry knew he had offended Malfoy, so he mouthed _sorry_ to the blond, who huffed and crossed his arms over his chest and tried to hide the smile breaking out on his face.

"Thanks, Malfoy, I appreciate it."

"Let's not talk about it. Next thing I know, you'll be comparing me to the Weasley mum, and I'll have none of that!"

Harry chuckled. He flopped back onto the bed and pulled at Malfoy, which sent the slightly smaller man sprawling onto the mattress as well.

Turning to his side and propping his head on a hand, Harry looked down on the blond who had so pleasantly invaded the past six months of his life. "When are you going to let me call you Draco?"

"Not in my life," Malfoy whispered. _Why were they whispering?_

Draco felt that it was imperative to hold on to this last fortress. Having Potter call him by first name would be—it would be like handing his heart out on a platter; it would mean no turning back. It would be surrender.

"Come on? What do I have to do so I can call you Draco?" Potter pressed on and looked into Draco's grey eyes.

How had Potter crept so close without him noticing? Now, it was as if Draco was basking in Potter's scent and drowning in those green eyes. Draco said nothing in reply, afraid that any sound from him would betray that his heart was going a mile a minute.

"Draco. _Draco_. I love how it feels when I say your name." Potter caressed Draco's jaw with his free hand.

Draco might have whimpered at that.

"If I kiss you now, would you let me call you _Draco_ all the time? Even after I leave and come back after the hols?"

Draco looked into those green eyes and tried to say everything he couldn't put into words. _Yes, but if you break my heart I'll fucking kill you. I'm not terribly sure what we're doing but it feels perfect. When you get back from Asia you better still want this._

"Give me my kiss, _Harry_," Draco whispered at last. So Harry did.


End file.
